Never Forget You
by BarbieRollins
Summary: Six years ago, the unorthodox loon had met his perfect match in Harley Mitchell. The two were mad: both in general, and for each other. Things ended once Jon received an opportunity, and his then-beau refused to follow him on said journey. However, now that she's been presented with the same opportunity, Harley's looking to rekindle their spark, until he throws her a curveball.
1. Chapter 1: The Engagement

A/N: Hello, hello. I've been gone from this website for a while, but I want to try and get back at it again. I hope you all enjoy this story. Please send me your feedback. I'd love to hear what people think!

* * *

Summary: Jon and Harley were the independent scenes pride and joy. He was the personification of extreme wrestling, and Harley was, too. Regardless of her impressive in-ring abilities, though, the lunatic fringe tried his hand at wooing Ms. Mitchell on various occasions. He figured the woman was your typical ring rat in a pair of wrestling boots. However, looks had been deceiving, and the old adage of, _"Don't judge a book by it's a cover,"_ had been accurate with this one. In that petite, five-foot-two frame, Jon Good had realized that this woman was his soul mate. Or supposed to be, rather. Harley was just as much of the wild, unhinged degenerate that he was, and it drove him mad. Mad enough to settle down with her. Being the first woman to tame the nutty, promiscuous playboy, Jon and Harley were seen by independent fans as a power couple. It was as if wrestling devotees had found their very own Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. But one phone call from Stamford, CT changed it all. The request for Jon's presence in Tampa, FL, where Harley refused to follow him to, saw the end of their relationship. It's been five years since they have spoken or seen each other, but it all changes when the indie princess gets a call from good ole Stamford. Upon her arrival to the big leagues, Harley is eager to begin the new experience, and perhaps make peace with Jon. However, her plans crumble upon finding out that he's given his colleague, Renee Young, an engagement ring.

•••

Chapter 1

A bag of original _Sunchips_ rested on her thighs while Harley tuned into the latest edition of _Thursday Night SmackDown_. She surveyed the divas's every move, while her plump lips parted in order to stuff a handful of potato chips in between them. She hollered, "Kick her ass, Nikki!" to the television before chuckling to herself. The battle between her beloved Bella Twin and Emma was keeping her on her toes. Mainly because Harley loved seeing Nikki wrestle, and she found herself longing for the day she'd be able to get in a ring with the Total Diva.

After licking the salt off of her fingertips, a dimpled grin surfaced across her face when Nikki had emerged victorious. Harley squealed and cheered in the middle of her living room, as if she were in the crowd. "That's what I'm talkin' 'bout," she giggled as the television went to a commercial, only for it to showcase the smirking mien of a man she once knew. Here he was, advertising overpriced t-shirts, because he had become one of the top guys in the company. Shivers trickled along her spine as she stared into his oceanic blue orbs. The same orbs that had once peered into her chocolate brown ones, and muttered his infamous, "I, _y'know_ , you. A whole goddamn lot." His icy voice seemed to echo within her eardrums, even after the commercial had come to an end.

She missed Jonathan Good. There was no doubt about it. However, being the stubborn woman that she was, there was no way in hell she'd attempt to contact him. Besides, he had better things to do. The Dean Ambrose didn't have time for a former flame. As he had said himself the night they ended their relationship, he was on to bigger and better things. A sigh rolled off of Harley's tongue, and she opted to shut off the television for the night. It bugged her that she couldn't get through one sitting of RAW or SmackDown without thinking of him. Goddamn Vince McMahon for signing him. She tossed the remote onto the ground, and began to stretch out on the sofa, when her iPhone proceeded to buzz. Evidently irritated by the ringing taking place just while she was lying down, she snatched the smartphone and grunted, "Hello?"

"Good evening. Would this happen to be Harley Mitchell?" the chipper voice on the opposing end inquired. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she silently wondered who the hell would be calling her this late. Did they not realize what time it was?

"Yep, it's me," she answered, rather aloof. "Who's askin'?"

"This is Paul Levesque, actually, from World Wrestling Entertainment. I'm calling because we've been looking over your work on the independent scene, and we're highly interested in you."

Snorting with chuckles as she sat straight up on the couch, Harley stated, "Yeah, right. Next joke please. Who's playin' games on my phone? Jimmy? Is that you?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but this isn't a joke and I'm certainly not your pal, Jimmy. I reviewed your work at the recent Ring Of Honor show, and it was quite the stealer. You even showed up the male talent. We'd love to fly you out tomorrow morning to have a proper discussion, though."

"Holy sh-," she caught herself. " _Crap_." She had received calls like these before. Hell, she'd even gotten the chance to work at _Impact's_ Knockouts Knockdown pay-per-view just a few months ago. However, those prior opportunities paled in comparison to having a meeting with the man who ran the big leagues. "I d-don't know what to say," Harley finally stuttered out. She was truly speechless. This hadn't been how she imagined her Friday night — not by a long shot.

"Hopefully you'll say, ' _Yes, I'll come to Stamford._ ' Otherwise, I'll have to pretend like this phone call never took place."

"Trust me, I'll be there!"

•••

"A little help here?" hollered Harley while she attempted to drag her leopard printed suitcase out of the taxi. Immediately, the driver jogged over to offer his assistance. He took the luggage from her hands, and walked it to the hotel's entrance, much to her pleasure. Harley grinned, "Thank you so much," before handing the man an extra twenty dollar bill. While her suitcase rolled behind her, Harley sashayed over to the receptionist desk. Her smile was broad as she extended her hand and proclaimed, "Harley Mitchell. I'm with WWE." The man behind the counter grasped her delicate palm, and gave it a shake, while offering her the same grin.

"Very nice to meet you, Ms. Mitchell. May we have your I.D. for authentication purposes?" Immediately, she took the card from her wallet, and placed it in his hand. Once he had returned it, along with her room key, he stated, "You have a great stay."

"Thank you," she retorted before grabbing her bags, and heading to the elevator. While she strolled, Harley took in all of the hotel's amenities. It came equipped with a restaurant inside, and various signs indicted a spa of some sort. WWE sure knew how to make sure their stars were taken care of. However, her eyes became wide with satisfaction because on the opposing side of the elevator doors was a gym. Harley silently thanked the Lord that she didn't have to leave the premises to work out, and from the looks of it, the gym was pretty efficient. She could see men with their backs to her lifting, and running on the treadmill through the window. Harley opted to take a peek inside to see if it was worth getting a workout in before RAW that evening. She wanted to look her best for her first night on the job. She had signed with the company just a mere week ago after her telephone call with the boss man.

The interview consisted of an introduction by Triple H himself, and then the contract signing. Her time on the indie's proved to be efficient, so they allowed her to skip the training facilities in Florida. That was sure to cause a few rifts backstage. Nearly all of the talent, men and women included, had paid their dues in developmental. However, being the strong-willed wrestler that she was, Harley wouldn't allow any of her colleagues to undermine her abilities because she hadn't gone through the same process. She left her luggage outside the gym doors to stroll inside, and immediately, she felt the urge to flee. Every man inside turned around and every one of them happened to be her new colleagues. There was one in particular that made her stomach turn, though. His eyebrows scrunched together while he stared at her in what appeared to be awe. She had sure changed since the last time Jon had seen her. Her tightly curled tresses, bamboo earrings and cut off shorts were no more. Her hair was pin straight and pearl studs donned her earlobes. The overpriced stilettos and beige sundress were items that the Harley wouldn't have been caught dead in years before. However, that cherubic face and curvaceous figure were recognizable anywhere.

"Harley," he finally breathed. This meeting hadn't been how she had imagined it. She thought she'd be running into his arms in slow motion the way it was in movies when former flames found each other again. Not to mention all the times she had seen him on the television didn't do him any justice. The man was drop dead beautiful, and all she desired was to hold him in her arms for just a moment. Just to reminisce, and feel it again. However, the only place she ran to was out the door, and towards the elevator. She pressed the button frantically, but unfortunately for her, the elevator doors hadn't closed fast enough. Jon was in hot pursuit behind her. He slid through the elevator doors just before she could hit her floor number. As they stood in silence, she attempted to not look at him. "Why'd you do that? Did I get ugly or something?" he inquired with a chuckle.

"Jon," she finally spoke as she shook her head. "I'm sorry, I just, I got nervous seeing you. I mean, it's been so long and I didn't know what to,-" he cut her off.

"Ssh," he muttered. "Besides your new get-up, I see not much has changed. You're still a babbling fool under pressure." Chuckling, he leaned against the elevator wall with a nonchalant expression on his face. "You excited 'bout having been signed? You've been the talk of the town. I ain't believe it at first, though." Harley was baffled. They hadn't seen each other in years, and the last moment they spoke, it ended in all out war. Yet here he was, talking as though things were normal.

"Ecstatic," she whispered just as the door opened up to her floor. The pair stepped out and Harley strolled briskly to her hotel room in front of him. She wanted this little reconciliation to come to an end, although, Jon didn't appear to feel the same.

"Don't sound too damn happy to me," he chuckled again upon making it to her side. "You're gonna miss your pals at Ring Of Honor, huh? What'd y'all call yourselves again? The Dojo Chicks?"

Her eyes rolled, she stopped walking and twirled to face him, inquiring, "Jon, what do you want?"

"What do you mean what do I want? We haven't seen in each other in awhile. I just wanted to catch up and see how you were doing. Sue me for being friendly."

"You're acting like everything is normal, Jon. Where we left off, things were _not_ normal."

"That was years ago, Harls. How 'bout you stop living in the past?"

"Just stay away from me, alright?" With those words, she jogged to her hotel room, but Jon wouldn't budge. He was directly behind her while she put the key in. Gently pushing the slender diva aside, he slipped in between her and the door to stand in front of it.

"So that means we can't be friends?" he asked quietly.

"Get outta my way. I have to get ready for tonight."

"Answer me first."

"Why are you doing this?" Before he could offer her an explanation, a chipper voice behind them began cooing. Harley turned around to see a statuesque blonde with furrowing eyebrows staring her down.

"Babe," the blonde declared. "Who is this?" Stepping from between Harley and the door, and in the middle of the ladies instead, Jon glanced from the brunette to the blonde and back again.

"This is Harley. A friend from the independent days. She was just signed a few weeks ago, and I wanted to welcome her to the company," he explained with a faint grin. Harley's mien revealed a bit of irritation when Jon referred to her as solely a friend in front of his evident beau.

"Oh, I recall hearing something about a new diva signee. Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" the woman proceeded to inquire with a smile while Harley remained silent.

"Harley, this is Renee. I'm sure you've gathered that she, too, works here and she's also my fiance." A look of shock and disbelief was established upon her cherubic face. Jon being engaged was like a knife going through her coffin. It felt as though someone had snatched her heart out of her chest, and stomped on it repeatedly. She sucked in her breath before glancing at the blonde who was smiling from ear to ear as she hooked onto the man's arm.

"Nice to meet you, Renee," she muttered. "Now, if you excuse me." Sticking her key into the door in a hurry, she slipped through it, and was sure to slam it shut behind her. Before she could restrain herself, tears began to well up in her eyes, and they streamed along her cheeks. To say things hadn't gone the way she had anticipated to would be an understatement. However, she oddly felt betrayed. It took Jon years after they were together to say that he had loved her, and yet here he was, _engaged_. Ready to be married. But most of all, she hated the fact that she wasn't all the way over him, and he was completely finished with her.


	2. Chapter 2: 21st Ammendment

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews on Chapter 1! Sorry that this is so late, I've just been super busy. I'm glad that so many people enjoyed the first part, and I hope this doesn't disappoint.

•••

Chapter 2

" _Nice," a ghastly voice muttered from behind her. Harley had been leaning forward, touching her toes, by the gorilla to warm up for her upcoming match. It was her first night on the night job at Dragon Gate USA, and although most people would probably be skittish about initial match-up's, Harley Mitchell wasn't like most people. Perhaps electrified and concentrated would be the better way to describe it. She was prepared to prove herself, and was focused on accomplishing said goal. So, needless to say, she was more than vexed by the interruption, because it was sure to divert her focus. When Harley twirled around, she gave the commentator an eye-roll._

" _Can I help you?" she inquired, giving the man a once-over. He wreaked of Newports, whiskey and mistakes. Harley had heard about him, though. The ladies locker room swooned over how unconventional he was. Complaints about his savage behavior always ended with girlish giggles. He was notorious for making his rounds around the locker room — wooing just about every appealing woman he took a liking to. Harley had yet to have the privilege of encountering him, but that swiftly changed._

 _With a little shit-eating grin, he warned, "Watch your tone. What's with the attitude?"_

" _I'm a little busy, if you couldn't tell," spat Harley. "I have a match in about five minutes, and you're fucking me up."_

" _I ain't fucking you yet, but I won't pass on the opportunity," he muttered. The icy stare he gave her, paired with that devilish tone of his, sent a chill down Harley's spine. He was bad news and there was no doubt that. However, his outlandish ways were intriguing, so she could see why he had so many ladies enamored. They had never encountered a man who could objectify them out of their panties. Harley, on the other hand, although still enticed, was hipped to the twisted games of men like him. The concrete jungle managed to teach her a thing or two about them, so she wasn't all that impressed._

" _I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you would never receive such a privilege."_

" _That's a little dramatic, no? I mean, you're an OK looking rat, but I wouldn't say you're a privilege. Perhaps 'catch of the day' would suffice."_

" _I think you're a tad bit entitled, too. You seem to think that if you undress me with your eyes, and display this aura of, 'I don't give a fuck,' that I'm going to lay on my back for you like every other miserable, feeble-minded slut that waltz's through here. I don't have a thing for men who treat me like shit, so you're better off talking to Becky over there with the good hair. Now, they're about to call my name, and you're being nothing but a distraction." Harley twirled so that her back was facing him, and as if on cue, her music, 'Lil Kim's Whoa, began. While she stretched her arms out, a palm gripped her elbow and whipped her back around. He pulled her figure towards his own, their chests pressed up against one another's, while he leaned down to her ear._

" _I'm Jon," he murmured before letting her arm go, and drifting off down the hallway, leaving her with hopes that they'd bump into each other again._

•••

A Newport hung from her plump, crimson lips while Harley leaned against the concrete wall that bordered the parking garage connected to Boston's TD Garden. She took lengthy drags from her cigarette in hopes that it'd aid in calming her down. There was so much on her plate that she could barely function. It was her first night on the job, and initially, she was both confident and secure in what was to come. Regardless of the circumstances with her former flame, she figured things would be smooth. Bumping into Jon was inevitable. However, the way it all had panned out made her antsy. Her slender arms crossed around her chest while she threw the cigarette onto the ground, and stomped on it with her Louboutin pump. No amount of nicotine could aid in bettering the blow of not amounting to anything in Jon's heart. She was bitter and envious. Hell, she couldn't even pretend to be happy for him. That was next to impossible after everything they had been through. There were countless cute, little squabbles and overly intoxicated rendezvous that the two of them shared. But beneath it all, they had a bond that seemed infinite.

As cliche as it sounded, they understood one another better than anyone else had. They were two lunatics in love, and with how guarded Jon was with her, she couldn't begin to fathom how he was prepared to marry some bottle blonde. Visibly irritated, Harley headed inside through the back door, and looked at the signs to direct herself to the ladies locker room. She didn't have a match-up that evening, but perhaps surrounding herself with a few of her colleagues would get her mind off of the obstacles at hand. Her strut down the hallway was chorused by the impact of her heels on the concrete floor. Needless to say, her stroll caused a few heads to turn in her direction. For a while Harley was all about business in the wrestling industry. Friends for her were few and far between because of her focus on her goal, but now that she had captured that goal, she figured her standoffish nature could go awry. She looked towards those who had peered over at her with a small smile to acknowledge them, before Harley stumbled upon the women's locker room. While she was pushing through the double doors, however, a palm on her arm stopped her in her tracks. After twirling around, she was face to face with one of her male colleagues.

"I've never seen you around before," he remarked while giving her a once-over. Harley recognized him as resident playboy and comedian, Dolph Ziggler.

"Do you always grab onto ladies you don't know, Dolph?" she inquired, her brow rising.

"Call me Nick," he corrected immediately, a smirk resonating across his mien. "Only the ladies whom I like to formally introduce myself to. And you are?"

"Harley Mitchell, your newest colleague. Are you the welcoming committee?"

"I'm as good as it gets, babe. A little word of advice? Don't go in there," Nick instructed while pointing his thumb at the women's locker room door.

"Why not? You think I can't handle myself?"

"Well, do you want me to be honest? Absolutely not." Chuckles ensued while Nick brought his arm around Harley's shoulders, and lead her away from the door. "The girls don't take to newcomers all too well. I'm just trying to help you out."

"I can take any of those little girls on my worst day. I ain't worried," the always self-assured Harley retorted with an eye-roll. Nick's giggles continued while the two strolled down the hallway.

"Feisty, huh? That's another reason they wouldn't take to you all too much." Before she could respond, however, the two were interrupted by the clearing of a throat from behind them. Together, they turned, only to be in front of the one person she hoped to only see in passing from now on.

"What are ya doin', Nemeth?" Jon inquired while leaning against the nearby wall. Harley could tell from the glare that Jon gave both of them that he wasn't all too happy about Nick being so friendly with her, but who was he to be mad about it?

"Just showing the new girl around. Have you met Harley?"

Jon moved his icy gaze from Nick's to Harley's, muttering, "We know each other. I think I can take the tour from here."

"It was nice meeting you, Harley," Nick stated, his brow slightly rising from confusion, but he offered the woman a small smile before heading off in the opposing direction. Once he was out of hearing range, Harley narrowed her chestnut orbs at Jon.

Scowling, she spat, "Why would you do that? I want to actually make some friends around here."

"Nemeth ain't the kind of friend you need," Jon grumbled before nodding his head behind her. "Walk. We gotta talk."

"Don't tell me what to do like I'm your child or something. There's absolutely nothing we have to talk about. Perhaps you should just stay away from me all together."

"Is that _really_ what you want?" asked Jon. Clearly, the question was rhetorical. He gave her a nudge before strolling in front of her to lead the way. Curiosity killed the cat because Harley opted to trail behind him. The fact that he wanted to talk resonated with her. She, too, felt like a conversation was needed, but she damn sure wasn't going to initiate it. He steered her out back where the buses were parked, before garnering a spot that was out of viewing distance. This, too, caused her vexation to rise.

"Are you ashamed to be seen talking to me?" Harley inquired once they had made it outside. Jon seemingly felt like that question wasn't worth a response, however.

"I get myself a hot blonde, and you go and try to do the same?" was his cocksure retort instead.

"Are you jealous?"

"Are _you_?" countered Jon, that smirk of his reemerging.

"I oughta smack that little shit eating grin off of your face," Harley hissed.

"I don't know what's up with you, Harls. You run away when ya see me, ya get mad at me when I try to be your friend. Jesus Christ, what do you want from me?"

"I want you to leave me alone. I thought that was pretty obvious."

" _Ouch_ ," Jon stated, feigning concern as he placed his palm across his chest, before he laughed directly in her face. "If you wanted that, you wouldn't be here." Clearly, Harley took that as a challenge, because she twirled on her heels, and headed back towards the vicinity. If Jon thought she needed him, he had sadly mistaken. He had caught up with her with ease, though, and blocked her with his muscular frame. However, he should've known better than to think that that would've stopped her. Harley clawed and pounded on his chest with her palms while she attempted to get past him. "Cut the shit," he ordered, his tone slightly rising while he coiled his arms around her figure to keep her palms down by her sides. Jon stood over her and kept that grip of his tight. An aroma of his whiskey hit her nostrils when Jon stated in a low tone, "You're gonna tell me what your problem is, Harls. I know you. I know when something is bothering you. After everything we've been through, there's no way you'd want me to leave you alone."

"You don't get it, Jon. It's because of everything that we've been through that I'd rather not be around you," murmured Harley, her tone softening. He always had a way with words that'd make her calmer. "Things are different now, and the only way I can accept that is if I only see you in passing."

"I don't wanna see you in passing. I wanna be able to talk to you like we used to. Romantic or not, we were friends first and that's what I want to get back. How 'bout we hit up our spot after the show tonight? Catch up a bit? And you can tell me what your issue is in full."

"Our spot?" repeated Harley. As much as she tried to fight it, a faint grin crept out onto her features. "You talkin' 'bout 21st Amendment?"

"Are we goin' or what?" Jon asked, mimicking that smile of hers.

"I don't know. We'll see," was Harley's equally insolent response before she shoved him yet again to get out of his grip, and head back inside. Although, in reality, she truly didn't know what to do considering Jon, her and booze were a lethal combination.


	3. Chapter 3: Tennessee Whiskey

A/N: Sooo, after what literally was _forever_ , I'm back! A few things got in the way of me updating this story, but I couldn't fight the fact that I wanted to continue it, so here we are. I hope you all enjoy!

•••

Chapter 3

"I was just inside," Harley assured the guard while holding up her I.D. The overbearing security read over the list of superstars for a third time. Finally, he realized Harley's name was indeed on it, so she was allowed to process through. "Jesus Christ," she muttered to herself, while taking a mental note to never venture outside the venue again, since it was a helluva job trying to get back in. Of course, the tight-knit security worked in the talent's benefit, but it was a goddamn pest if you weren't doing anything wrong. The hallways had cleared by the time Harley had come back inside. Perhaps because the show was set to begin in less than fifteen minutes, so most were huddled around televisions, or scarfing down the last of catering. She found herself scurrying around, glancing at signs to direct herself to a destination where she at least wouldn't be by herself.

"Mitchell," a husky voice called out behind her, however, causing Harley to glance back. Her heart faintly skipped a beat once the burly figure of Paul Levesque came into focus. A small smile of gratitude emerged across her features as she waited for him to catch up with her before she greeted him.

"Good evening, sir," she beamed while peering up at him. The pair shook hands before Paul motioned for her to follow him.

"I was looking for you just now. I've got some good news," Paul explained while walking ahead of her, in pursuit of his makeshift office. He settled behind the desk once inside, and after Harley took a seat across from him, he stated, "There's an offer on the table for you. It's completely up to you whether or not you want to take it, but if you want my opinion, I say do it. It will only get people talking about you, and in this business, mostly all press is good press."

"What's the offer?" Harley inquired, her brow rising slightly.

"Total Divas. Vince wants you on the show. He believes that showcasing your journey would be new, and refreshing since you aren't the typical women's wrestler." Paul handed over a stapled stack of papers for her to read over, and Harley recognized it as a contract. A contract with E! that'd basically sign over every right she had to privacy. Being passionate about the art of wrestling, a reality show was something she would've turned her nose up to in the past. Scripted, over the top cat fights with her colleagues for the sake of getting a bit of fame? Not really her cup of tea, no, but Paul said that it'd be a good idea. And if her boss suggested it, she oughta give it a shot.

"Where do I sign?" she asked after giving the pages a brief once-over. The two shared a smile as he handed over a pen, and Harley transcribed her name on the dotted line he pointed to.

"I'm happy you made that decision. C'mon, I'll take you to Marc, who'll have you meet the ladies," stated Paul as he set the contract aside in a folder and led the way out. Harley was never the type to be nervous — she seldom felt that feeling if she wasn't in the ring. But, boy, were the butterflies in her stomach swirling when Paul had her walking to meet the Total Diva girls. Relationships were already established between them. And here she was, a new chick they didn't know anything about, who wormed her way to the main roster without even going to developmental. She was certainly going to be on their hit list. She mentally prepared herself for their pettiness, when she and Paul approached a door that Marc Carrano stood in front of.

"Happy to see this," he stated while holding his arms out to embrace Harley. She gave him a brief hug solely to be polite, before he opened the door. When the two stepped inside, all eyes were on them. "And ladies, this is your newest castmate, Harley," Marc spoke up, motioning for her to step closer to him. The girls gave her a rather lukewarm reaction, however. Mumbled hello's and diverted gazes. She didn't have a chance to make eye contact with anyone.

"Nice to meet you all," Harley spoke up, opting to extend an olive branch, but she was met with disinterested stares.

"Filming begins tomorrow, alright, ladies? Play nice," Marc forewarned before patting Harley on the back and strolling out the room. The women swiftly followed after him, as if being around their new colleague was going to make them catch something. The only one to stay behind was Naomi.

"Hey girl, I just wanted to officially welcome you to the roster. Who knows, maybe we'll get up in that ring together. Start up a Funkadactyls 2.0, sprinkle a 'lil black girl magic in that squared circle, y'know?" she joked with a lighthearted chuckle. "Don't worry about the other girls, either. They'll come around. Right now, they're just stuck up Renee's behind."

"Renee's behind?" repeated Harley, her head tilting slightly.

"Yeah, she was talking 'bout you when Marc first told us you might be joining the team. Something about you being all over her fiance, and it rubbed her the wrong way," Naomi explained with a shrug. Harley may have chuckled, but inside, she was fuming.

While nodding her head slowly, she stated, "Thank you for being kind. I look forward to working with ya," with a small smile. "Should we get outta here? The show's starting."

"Of course. C'mon, you can hang with me," retorted Naomi while looping her arm through Harley's. As the girl's strolled side by side, Harley whipped her phone out to begin sending a message. "Ooh, who ya textin'?" Nao inquired, causing Harley to chuckle a bit.

"Just an old friend," she muttered in response while typing, 'I'll meet you at 21st,' before hitting send so that Jon would get the message loud and clear.

•••

"A jack daniels, damnit!"

The words made Harley's lips twist into a grin. Even over the raucous music, she would recognized it anywhere. And as she approached the bar to see her companion for the evening, poking fun at the mixologist, as per, she couldn't help but giggle. Initially, she had been a tad unsure about meeting Jon. However, after the cold reception she received from her colleagues, thanks to his little fiance, she felt the overwhelming urge to be petty tonight. She shed her jacket after acquiring the bar stool beside him.

"Could you stop the heckling with your loud ass? I could hear ya at the front," she stated, giving her chestnut orbs a roll. Jon turned to look directly at her, even though his oceanic eyes were glazed over from the alcohol.

"Who's gonna stop me, hm?" he inquired, a sly smile surfacing across his mien. "Are you gonna join me in gettin' fucked up tonight or what?"

"And go to work tomorrow with a hangover from hell? Absolutely not."

"Oh, c'mon!" Jon protested. "It's your first night as a WWE diva. We gotta do it big."

"Correction: WWE Superstar. Is this beverage on you?"

"What kind of gentleman would I be if it weren't?"

"You and I both know you ain't no fuckin' gentleman," retorted Harley. After turning her attention to the bartender, she spoke out, "I'll take a jack and coke."

"Give us a round of whiskey, too," interjected Jon as he looped his arm across the back of Harley's stool. As he leaned near her, she could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath. It reminded her of way back when, giving her goosebumps again. "I thought you ain't wanna be my friend, Harls."

"Who said we were on our way to being friends?" she countered, her brow rising. "For all you know, I could be usin' you for a drink." She always enjoyed being a mystery with him. Besides, it was better for the both of them if he didn't know the truth.

"Well, you're here right now. Lookin' fuckin'..." his tone trailed over, but his orbs drifted down to take in her shapely figure in that skin tight, black dress. It hugged every curve. Harley could feel her heart rate pick up, but she wasn't ready to melt in Jon's arms. She couldn't allow for that to happen just yet. Reaching out, she gave his chin a nudge to tug his head up.

"My eyes are up here, Mox."

Smirking, he muttered, "You miss me?" His inquire went ignored as Harley reached out for the jack and coke that was set out for her. She brought it to her lips while Jon gravitated towards a shot of whiskey. That was something they had in common. Substances happened to be their coping mechanisms when things got awkward or difficult. Perhaps it's why they were so goddamn stubborn to begin with.

"How would your fiance like that?" inquired Harley, finally, shifting so that she could face him. Of course, the question made Jon's orbs roll. It was shots like those that ticked him off, and he knew she did it purposefully.

"Can't we have a good night?"

"You know that bitch was talking 'bout me?" she pushed. Holding her tongue wasn't her strong suit. Harley was a spitfire, and she spoke her mind with little regard. "Talkin' 'bout I was all up on her man, and she ain't like it. How would she feel if she knew her 'man' was all up on me, Mox?" Jon's jaw tightened and he threw back another shot before nodding at the bartender, signaling for them to give him another. Those icy blue orbs pierced Harley's chestnut ones as he grew vexed.

"Let it go, aight? You're finna kill my buzz with all your bitchin'. Do you really think it's acceptable to call her out of her name? I mean, c'mon, you hardly know her."

"Oh, fuck you. Ya really gonna defend that bitch?"

"I ain't gonna tell you again to watch it."

"And if I don't?" That smart aleck tongue of hers was something Jon both despised and desired. And that was evident given the way his jaw clenched, but his hands told a different story, as he placed his palm on the curve of her back. His touch sent a sensation throughout her body. Harley felt it all the way from the balls of her feet, to in between her thighs. Even though she knew viewing Jon that way wasn't appropriate given the circumstances, he had a hold on her that would always remain.

"Y'know, you really piss me off sometimes, Harls," he muttered before tossing back another shot.

"The feeling's mutual," she retorted, her voice barely above a whisper. She snagged a shot from his row and allowed the whiskey to trickle down her throat. Perhaps the beverage would put her at ease, and allow her to not focus on how she felt about Jon. What good would it be thinking about what she couldn't have? They sat in silence, taking turns in signaling the bartender to give them another. Though by the third round of whiskey, her orbs had already glazed over. That booze was hitting her, and it was evident it had gotten to Jon, too. Their silence came to an end when the jukebox began playing an all too familiar tune. Chris Stapleton's Tennessee Whiskey. And, damn, did it remind Jon of the two of them. It was obvious with the way Harley turned to him, with a liquid courage smile, that she wanted to cut a rug. He slid off of his bar stool, stood after a stagger and towered over her. Anyone else would've taken the gesture the wrong way, but Harley knew him well. Well enough to know that Jon rarely outright declared his emotions. His actions did the talking.

So, she quite happily trotted towards the open space in the center of the bar alongside him. Not much room in that hole in wall, but they never needed much. A few drinks, good music and each other's company was their happy place not too long ago. And standing before him, with her arms wrapped around his abdomen, and his own placed on the small of her back, allowed her to reminisce.

"You never answered me," Jon purred in her ear. His words were slurred, and perhaps his palm was resting on her frame, to not only have her near while she swayed, but to keep his balance.

"What question?" asked Harley, regardless of her already knowing it.

"Ya missed me?" he whispered. "But the answer to that is already apparent, innit?" Jon's lips brushed against her neck. That intoxicating smell of his cologne, mixed with the alcohol on his breath, hit her nostrils. It was a scent that could always drive her wild. "You wouldn't have been on edge after seeing me in the gym, you wouldn't have tried to avoid me and you sure as hell wouldn't be here tonight if you haven't."

"And what's your excuse?" she countered. "You here tonight, ain't you?"

"I never said I didn't miss you, Harls."

"Neither did I." Their gaze met, albeit hazy thanks to the spirits in their systems, but there was no denying the pull. The attraction and yearn they had for one another was clear as day in that scarcely lit saloon. So, neither were taken by surprise when Jon closed the gap, and Harley tugged his head near. Five years apart and the hold he had on her was the same. She didn't realize she missed the taste of Newports until Jon's lips were on hers. His kiss was rash, sloppy, even. Just as she remembered it. He would never be that saccharine sweet sort of lover, and she adored that about him. When they did part, she was breathless. An inebriated, yet genuine smile had formed across Harley's mien, but Jon stumbled back. Expressionless, he muttered incoherently as she was released from his grasp. And just as soon as he had begun to capture her heart, he ripped it out again by leaving her standing there alone.


End file.
